Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
EMILY
It probably didn’t count as taking it slow when we were cashing in on Rule Two every single day.
But we were taking it slow.
I didn’t push him to put it all the way in the end zone. And he seemed to appreciate that.
He also seemed to be infatuated with my mouth for more than my witty comebacks.
I wasn’t ready for the shop to be open.
The shop, actually, wasn’t ready to be open.
And yet, we were two hours out from the soft opening of The Sweet Brief.
There were truffles and I had enough inventory for the event. I just had to survive the day without hyperventilating.
The truffle case gleamed. The espresso machine hissed in small, contented sighs. Sunlight slid across the front tables and turned the gold-foil wrappers into tiny little bravery medals.
The whole building now smelled of chocolate and roasted coffee beans and, if I did say so myself, possibility.
Also, nerves. Yes, nerves had a scent. It landed somewhere between hot metal and the first three minutes of a courtroom’s air before opposing counsel shows up.
I set down a tray of sea-salt caramels and let the happiness in my heart spread, slow and sweet.
“Tell me the ovens are not going to unionize,” Finn said, coming in from the back with a rack of brownie bites and his hair in that artfully messy situation it got when I was done with him.
“They can unionize if they want,” I said. “I will negotiate with brownies.”
He bumped my hip with the tray. “Promise me you’ll negotiate hard.”
“I have news.” I slid the caramels into their row.
His blue eyes went alert and careful.
“I sold my apartment,” I said. There. Out loud. “For real, we got a closing date.”
Finn went very still in that big, quiet way he had. Like he just put a stadium’s worth of noise inside himself and locked the door.
“Okay.” Then he cleared his throat and tried for light. “This is a good thing.”
“It means I’ve got the capital to hire Dallas. Pam is looking to get a job next door at the bookshop, and Sharon does not want a real job, so she keeps saying. It also means I’ll be moving into the apartment upstairs here, once I get everything settled.” I wrung my hands together.
“Oh.”
“I’ll be out of your hair,” I assured.
“You’re never in my hair,” he said.
“Oh, come on, like you’re not going to love having your house to yourself again?”
“I mean,” he said, glancing to the side. “I don’t want to lose access to the woman who judges my cereal choices. Who will make me eat healthy shit?”
“You buy the cereal marketed to seven-year-olds,” I said. “Just buy the adult stuff.”
His smile wobbled. “You don’t have to rush out, Em. You know that.”
“I know,” I said gently. “But I also know you’re ready. You’re doing great. You don’t… need me.”
“I like having you there,” he said, all joking gone, like he’d set it down so he could hold this instead.
I swallowed past the lump that had been living in my throat since I’d signed the closing documents. “I like being there.”
He planted his hands wide, leaning in. “Move upstairs here if you want. If it feels right. But don’t do it because you think you’re in my way. I invited you into my life on purpose. I like you with me.”
“Noted.” I lined up the caramels. “And since I used part of the partner pension payout as capital, when the remainder hits, I’ll have enough cushion to get through the—”
“Through the terror window,” he said, nodding like a man who understood how long a business could hold its breath. Because I’d been talking about it all the time.
We didn’t talk much after that. He wiped counters while I set up espresso syrups. He loaded the cash machine tape while I checked the milk frother. He taste-tested a brownie bite for “science” while I rolled my eyes.
And when it was time, he straightened and said, “You ready?”
I looked at the room that had been drawings and emails and arguments and dust and paint, and now was counters and light and glass and the faintest smear of chocolate on the floor that I still needed to wipe up.
“Yes,” I said. “I’m ready.”
Maya and Angela arrived shortly before the doors opened. Maya wore overalls in a shade I would’ve called “pop star doing community service” but her glittered baseball cap made sure that even though she was trying hard to be inconspicuous, she was totally failing.
Angela had gone with slacks and a The Sweet Brief tee.
“Okay,” Maya said, tossing her purse behind the register. “I’m on the register. People have to buy something if they want a selfie or a chat. I refuse to be the free meet-and-greet when we are launching your empire.”
“I love you,” I told her.
“I accept tributes in truffle form,” she said, dead serious.
Angela pointed her phone at the neon open sign and then at me. “I’m all over the social media feeds.”
“Angela,” I said, resigned. “You don’t have to—”
“Lean in, babe. The algorithm wants what the algorithm wants.” She patted my arm.
Dallas, Sharon, and Pam swept in next.
Pam immediately took over water service and wiped up that chocolate smear before I had the chance. Sharon started a tally sheet like a boss. And Dallas hugged me, held me back, and did a slow pan of the room.
“It’s perfect,” she breathed. “It’s better than perfect.”
“It’s real,” I said, my voice doing that breaky thing.
She nodded. Then her smile tightened just at the edges before smoothing out again.
I filed the micro-expression away for later because the door chimed and my softly controlled life became an event.
Denver influencers arrived clutching cameras and selfie sticks. Local food bloggers peered into the case and moaned in a way that made me want to buy them dinner and encourage them to write that noise down.
A photographer Jill had sent from Denver Business—a different guy than last time—drifted through with a camera harness and friendly squint. He mentioned casually that “Jill’s spread is really quite something.”
Then less casually, he mentioned it would drop the day of the grand opening.
Wasn’t it amazing when everything came up Emily? I beamed. “That’s wonderful.”
He clicked a picture of Maya tapping a credit card to the machine. Finn slid behind the case like he owned it.
“Hello there, ladies,” he said to a trio of women in matching yoga sets and topknots. “What are we in the mood for? Sweet? Sweeter? Or the brownie that made me see God?”
My stomach gave a sharp, ugly pull.
They giggled. Of course, they did. He looked like a hot jock somebody built in a lab, slapped glasses on, and spit-polished for a billboard.
He leaned near the case, easily relaxed while he explained ganache versus mousse like a man who actually knew what a tempering curve meant.
“The salted caramel brownie truffle is illegal in twelve states,” he told them solemnly. “Luckily, Colorado respects dessert liberties.”
My mouth went a little sour watching his show. Which was stupid. I’d seen him do this same thing a thousand times. And this time he was doing it for me. Doing it to sell my products.
The women all giggled. The tallest one lifted a sample to her mouth, eyes on him, not the brownie. “What do you call this one?”
“Brownie-as-foreplay?” he offered, mouth crooked.
She laughed too hard, smacking her friend with her phone. “Oh my God, yes.”
“It’s not legally binding language,” he added, wicked. “But I stand by the spirit.”
Yes, I knew exactly what he was doing. He was being Finn. Turning charm into conversions and attention into receipts. It was good business. It was good for my business.
So why was I frowning?
“You look like someone just dropped a tray of the good chocolate,” Angela said from beside me.
“I don’t even know what I’m feeling right now. I think I might be jealous.” Which was ridiculous, obviously. This was Finn we were talking about.
“Sweetheart,” Angela murmured. “That feeling isn’t jealousy. That’s emotional lactose intolerance.”
“What?”
“You’re reacting to feelings you can’t digest,” she said solemnly. “And you don’t like seeing your extracurricular study partner doing market research.”
“We’re adults,” I said, turning my full attention to her. “And we have rules for our thing. Besides, it’s not like I don’t have practice being jealous. He took Patty to prom, remember? And I totally got over that.”
“Uh-huh,” Angela said, totally unconvinced. “That’s why you just brought it up how many years later?”
I snorted. “I don’t like you right now.”
“Because you love me,” she sing-songed.
“Who’s Patty, and why are we jealous of her?” Finn asked from directly behind me.
I jumped. “You need a bell or something.”
“You, my dude, took Patty to prom,” Angela said, raising her brows.
“I did?” he asked.
“Your junior year,” I supplied.
“Oh, right.” He nodded, smiling faintly. “I remember. I made a poster. That made you jealous?”
“No,” I assured quickly.
But his grin turned slow and knowing, eyes glittery. “I didn’t know that.”
“Both of you, back to work,” Angela said, clapping her hands. “Finn, go make Emily jealous and sell lots of chocolate. Emily, go stand by your case like a queen and let people tell you you’re brilliant.”
I rolled my eyes but obeyed. I stood by my case like a queen and let people tell me I was brilliant.
We sold out of the almond toffee in forty minutes.
And then Dallas slipped through the swinging door to the back.
I followed.
The kitchen wrapped around us, stainless steel cool under my palms where I steadied myself against a prep table.
“Hey,” I said, softly. “What’s going on?”
Her smile was all teeth and zero joy. “You’re killing it.”
“Talk to me.”
She made a face up at the ceiling like she was negotiating with it to please not make her be human today. “It’s nothing.”
“Dallas.”
She blew out a breath. “It’s… something. Micah and I had a fight. But that’s not what today is about here. And it’s not a big deal.”
My stomach did the bad kind of flip. “We’re friends and you’ve been here for me this entire charade, so I want to be here for you if you want me to be.”
“I want you to be.”
“How bad is it?” I asked.